Christos Tsiolkas - Barracuda

In the back pocket of his suit trousers he spied the folded pages. He took them out, unfolding them to stare at the face of the Coach, then turned the prayer card over and for the first time looked at the words printed on the back. They had been recited at the service but he hadn’t listened then, he hadn’t taken them in. All he was conscious of at the service were the looks that went through him, the eyes that did not see him at all. But now he read the words of a poem by Walt Whitman. I see a beautiful gigantic swimmer swimming naked through the eddies of the sea . At first the letters, the words, the stanzas, remained shapes and line and curvature, they didn’t make sense, His brown hair lies close and even to his head, he strikes out with courageous arms, he urges himself with his legs, I see his white body , but he went back to the beginning and this time Dan’s mouth was forming the shapes and sculpting the words: I see his undaunted eyes, I hate the swift-running eddies that would dash him head-foremost on the rocks. What are you doing you ruffianly red-trickled waves? Will you kill the courageous giant? will you kill him in the prime of his middle-age? The glow inside him receded and he saw a man battling the sea, saw him as if from above, as if Dan were a creature of the sky, gliding over the sea, bearing witness to this swimmer, Steady and long he struggles, He is baffled, bang’d, bruis’d, he holds out while his strength holds out, The slapping eddies are spotted with his blood, they bear him away, they roll him, swing him, turn him , and then the creature he’d become

dived deep into the sea, and the creature was the swimmer and the swimmer was at the mercy of the uncaring monstrous ocean, His beautiful body is borne in the circling eddies , and the ocean was as beautiful and sublime as the possibility of the world could be: it is continually bruis’d on rocks, Swiftly and out of sight is borne the brave corpse.

Dan was in his room, looking at the photographs on his wall: of Theo, of his parents, of Regan with Layla, of Demet and Margarita at Uluru, Luke and Katie on the Great Wall, Dennis hugging Bettina, himself between his granddad Bill and his nan Irene. The last flickering light of the fire within him was extinguished.

He was alone in the small bare room, the prayer card had fallen from his hand. He was the swimmer, the old man, he was the Coach and he was Danny Kelly. The electric purr of the heater, the sonic whisper of the light globe above his head, they returned him to the room and to himself. There was a gnawing tightness in his stomach, there was a heaviness in his bladder, a pain in his left wrist, which he’d knocked against a cabinet at work a few days before. It was breathing, in and out, it was a return.

He whispered to the cold night air, ‘Thank you, Coach.’ Dan knew now what he had to do.

Dan rushed home the next day to pick up Regan and Layla; they crossed the river and headed towards his parents’ house, and now he had not a spark but a fire in his belly, with purpose there. This was what the Coach had wanted from him, needed from him, this was what he had failed to deliver, but now he could because now he knew how to be what he needed to be.

When they arrived, everyone was seated at the kitchen table, having been summoned there by Dan. Dennis was there as well, having an after-work beer. They all looked startled as Dan impatiently shepherded Regan into a chair, and then he sat too, so he could address them all. He couldn’t wait, he blurted it out, telling them about the inheritance, the money he would have and the future that could be built on it. His words jumped and danced and slipped and he had to go back and repeat them but he finally got it out, it finally made sense, he could see it in their stunned faces. Breathlessly he came to the end of his speech, his face red, his eyes shining: ‘And I want to give it to all of you, I don’t want any of it. I am giving all the money to all of you.’

His breathing was heavy, his face expectant.

His father, showing control in his voice, was the first to speak. ‘I can look after my family, Dan, I can do that and I have done that. You keep your money.’

Dan’s mum was looking down at the table, ‘You don’t have to do this, mate,’ and Theo too then said, ‘Yeah, Danny, what the fuck are you doing this for?’

Regan was holding Layla; she stopped kissing her baby to say, ‘You don’t have to look after us, Danny. We didn’t ever expect you to look after us. You don’t owe us anything, is that what you think, that you owe us?’

None of them could look at him, and Dan thought, I am ensnared in this earth, and I have never felt so distant from all of you.

Dennis cleared his throat. ‘You’re not listening to him, this is what he wants to do for you.’ He took Layla off Regan’s lap, held her tight. ‘That’s all I’m saying. Listen to him. I’m gonna take the baby to the next room.’

Once he’d gone, Regan exploded, ‘We’re not taking your money! It’s yours, not ours.’

Dan was treading water, Dan could see the shore but he was caught in the rip and being taken further out to sea and he knew this was how you disappeared, this was how the water could take you down. He slumped back in his chair. He was going under, he was disappearing.

Words formed, he could see them shift and unfurl just above the waves, he could see them dancing just where the sun touched the water.

He straightened, looking at his father. ‘I do owe you. And I am grateful and you are the only family I will have.’ As he clutched at the words he dropped under the rip and broke free. He was swimming towards the shore as he spoke. ‘I want to do this for what I owe you and for the love you have given me, and because if I do this, I feel I can begin again, I can start life again. So please, please, for me, please take this gift.’

His mother reached across the table, took his hand. ‘We never wanted anything from you, baby, don’t you understand?’

He breathed in and let the words out as he exhaled. ‘That’s exactly why I want to do this.’ He was still looking at his father. ‘This is the one way I think I can be a man.’ He tightened his grip on his mother’s hand. ‘I don’t know if you can understand, but I want to be a man, I want to start living, I just want to grow up.’

He had tried, but he could see that his family weren’t convinced. He could feel the weariness seeping into his bones, an acid starting to consume him from inside. It was not finished.

‘Don’t you understand? I haven’t earned this.’

This time it was his mother who was furious. Her rage spat and flared from her eyes. ‘You have, Danny, you have. I was there, all those mornings, all those afternoons, all that effort you put in, I was so proud of you. Don’t you dare say you haven’t earned this.’

‘Not on my own, I didn’t earn this on my own.’

They were all looking at him now. And he realised they were seeing him for the first time.

And though other things were said, so many things were expressed, so many arguments and objections put forward that he had to counter, in the end it was agreed: they would consider the gift. They finally accepted that, for Dan, the gift was worthless if it couldn’t be shared.

On the drive back home there was fog and drizzle, there was the thick blanket of night, but Dan thought that he could see far into the horizon and up through the cracks in the vault of the sky to the stars. He believed he had glimpsed the infinite. He was in the sky and it was as clean as being in water.